


3am Romance

by HighQueen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Jim Moriarty, M/M, Sebastian has a crush, So only sorta m/m, but don't we all, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighQueen/pseuds/HighQueen
Summary: First meeting between Sebastian Moran and a female Jim (let's call her Jenny. But Sebastian can call her Boss).Drabble. May or may not add onto it when the feeling strikes.





	3am Romance

Sebastian doesn’t even bother grunting as his calves are kicked to send him kneeling. The two men gripping his biceps do a good enough job controlling his fall so the slam doesn’t register much on his pain-scale. The concrete is freezing though. He sure wishes he was wearing more than his tight black pants. They—whoever they are, he’s still working on that—had stripped him down after they’d grabbed him. Smart of the bastards, too. He’d had on ankle sheathes and a concealed belt knife. Besides the obvious 9mm one of them had wretched out of his hands.

Whoever they were, they were well-informed of his more fun activities. Ten of them had busted in his door at three in the morning and quickly cased his place. Sebastian had killed four. But that hadn’t seem to faze the others—they’d quickly overpowered him, stripped him of his pajama pants and assorted weaponry, and cuffed him. With military cuffs. He also got the privilege of a cliché kidnapping hood. But they hadn’t bothered to gag him. Like he hadn’t bothered to call out for help. Been there done that. Not advised. 

Then three of them had marched him down the steps and into a waiting van without any panic. Sebastian assumed another one had driven them to their current location. That left two more that had stayed behind and pick up the bodies and clean the scene. 

So here Sebastian is, kneeling in a nipple-pebbling cold warehouse (their footsteps had echoed on the concrete, wasn’t too hard to figure out) in nothing but his pants, scars, and dog tags (excluding his kidnappers accurtamonts of hood and cuffs) surrounded by four very well-trained ex-military wet workers. Facing a woman that enjoys a smoky perfume that reminds Sebastian of the Middle East. Unless that smell is coming from the hood.

“Aww. Boys, you brought Momma such a nice present.” The woman claps her hands with childish delight and steps forward with a click of heels. At first hearing, Sebastian thought she might be Northern Irish. But then she changes her entire voice to purr, “I’m ~very~ pleased.” There is a pause where Sebastian thought she might be expecting a response. She gives a disappointed sigh. Yeah, she’d definitely wanted a response. “Well, move along! Shoo! How’s a girl supposed to get work done with everyone underfoot?”

“Ma’am,” one of the men speak up. “He was hard to subdue. Perhaps we should stay?”

“So sweet!” The woman’s voice goes back to childish. What the hell? Were there two women after all? No, only one set of heels that step forward before a slap rings out. One of the men grunts while the others shift uncomfortably. Her voice turns cutting and sarcastic. “You’re concern is heartwarming, truly. But misplaced. Now run along. I’m sure there are bodies to burn." She takes a step back, and something that sounds like bangles clacked together—she must be waving her arms— “Shoo!” 

The men high-tail it, probably thinking that they are marching instead of running from a higher predator. Who the hell is this woman? Sebastian licks his lips. God, he wants to see.

Someone tugs on his tags, making him jut his chin towards where he assumes the woman is even though he hadn’t heard her heels clack close. She’s close enough to grab after a second of slipping the cuffs. If he wants. For a second he thinks about trying. It sounds like they are alone. But he is too curious to end the game yet, and he’s sure he’d have plenty of chances later.  
“Sebby, darling, how I’ve ~longed~ to meet you.”

“Could’ve meet me in the pub and asked for a glass, sweetheart. No need for theatrics.” Sebastian pops off without his brain’s permission. He twitches when her heeled foot rests with too much force on one of his thighs—pushing him to sit on his feet. Not damaging. Yet. Just testing his reflexes. He doesn’t bother hissing in pain or apologizing, even when she twists the heel enough to pinch his bare flesh.

“Oh,” she gives a sweet sigh, “You’re going to be so much fun. We must become friends.”

“Friends normally give each other their names.” Sebastian gets another tap of her heel for that, but she also laughs and withdraws her foot. Call it a win.

“You can call me Boss if you want to,” She sings. There is noise that sounds like she might be spinning around on one toe like a ballerina. She stops to whisper by his ear, “Momma, too, but only if you’re feeling naughty.”

“Is there a reason I’m hooded and cuffed during the interview, Boss?”

Even though he can’t see it, Sebastian thinks she gives a shrug. “Theatrics, sweetheart.” She responds with a convincing Sebastian-esqe accent. “And I needed to have a word with you about Dominic. He’s been a naughty ~boy~. And word is that you were tagging along.”

It’s Sebastian’s turn to shrug. “I might have been paid to watch his back as he ripped off a buyer. I took my money and went my own way. What else would you like to know?”

“You’d flip on him so easily? What happened to honor among thieves, hmm?”

Sebastian gives a snort. “I’m a sniper, not a thief. I’ve no loyalty to Dominic. Besides, possession is nine tenths of the law.” He gives a waggle of his eyebrows she can’t see and shifts his knees to remind her of his position. “Looks like you’re the one with my loyalty now, Boss.” 

She gives a tinkling laugh before ripping the hood off his head. It ruffles his blonde hair over his blue eyes (getting too long, needed to give it a cut). After letting his eyes adjust for a few seconds, he gets his first look at his new employer. Long dark hair in a fashionable ponytail, dark eyes staring out from under thick eyebrows and bangs. Late 20’s, early 30’s. Her lipstick is an obscene shade of red that matches her necklace, bangles, and six-inch heels (all made to look like they were dripping fake blood). But her black dress looks like something an 8 to 5’er would wear on any given Tuesday. She has a willowy frame that probably got mistaken as weak. He can’t tell how tall she might be since he’s on his knees. But those heels probably made her taller than most men. 

She throws the hood and gives his tags another tug. “Up, Tiger. Dominic’s already been taken care of, so let’s not waste your time speaking ill of the dead.”

Sebastian stands as gracefully as he can. Tiger isn’t a new nickname, not from anyone that knows of his military career. It’s not often the British military could say they had a solider take down an Afghani Warlord’s pet tiger with an empty pistol and his fists. Then again, she could just be commenting on the still- shiny-pink scars from said tiger that made his hide look just like one. She leads him, by the tags like a pet, to a ridiculously plush carpet with two seats and a desk situated on top of it. An office/stage step up in the middle of an empty warehouse. More bizarre theatrics. Sebastian gets lead to one of the chairs before he’s ushered down with a swift push to his chest, lacquered nails digging into his pecs. 

He gets as comfy as he can with his hands tied behind his back. She settles in her own, much more luxurious, chair across from him a yard or two away, feet crossing at the ankles, arms aligned with the seat arms. A queen in a warehouse. Sounds like the start of a good joke. After Sebastian continues eye-contact with her for a few minutes, she responds with an arched eyebrow. “10 men broke into your home at 3 in the morning, restrained you, and dragged you to a woman whose name you don’t know in nothing but your tighty-whities and a pair of cuffs. Can you at least act like your panicking? Maybe try to run? That might be exciting.” She leans forward to say the last sentence conspiratorially, hair swinging down her shoulder and drawing his eyes to her cleavage for a moment.

When Sebastian looks back up, her bloody lips are quirking. “They’re black, actually. And I killed four of those men before deciding I was bored anyways so might as well come along. I was trained on how to get out of these cuffs, and since you seem to know more about me than just my name, you know that. So you want me to run. Or at least expecting it. That’s no fun. And I think we both want a bit of fun.” With a bit of theatrics of his own, he brings his hands around to his front, cuff free.

Her smirk changes into a genuine smile before launching into a sales pitch. “Salary. Five grand a month no matter how many or how few jobs I give you, ranging from dealing and stealing to assassinations. There’s always a chance of pay raise if you impress me. And don’t worry, you’re plenty qualified for anything I’ll want of you. Insurance and a host of private GP’s and surgeons for any work-related boo-boo. Exclusivity—my jobs and my jobs alone. 24/7 access—I’ll be giving you a mobile before you walk out. It has extended battery, but charge it every night anyways. I’ve already disabled the silencing, and I don’t care if you’re balls-deep in a snatch or about to take communion, you will answer by the second ring. You will take your orders from me and only me, although from time to time we get to play nice with others. Any weapons you have will be brought to me within the week for inspection, and you will acquire any new weapons through me. Disobey any of my orders and your termination will include being cut up a mouthful at a time to feed my cats. Betray me, and I’ll be the one to eat your flesh mouthful by mouthful.” 

She takes a breath, waiting for Sebastian’s reaction or outrage. But he doesn’t doubt her sincerity or determination. She hasn’t shown her own violence, but the fact that she has easily controlled ten men, four of which died for the job, and the remaining six that didn’t even throw a fuss when she had been so disrespectful of their passing, gave Sebastian enough reason to believe her. She continues with a raised brow. “Do you have any questions? Moral qualms? Hard limits?”

“Never met a qualm or limit I didn’t like to hurdle.” Sebastian quips. Everything else seems straight-forward. Perhaps a little too good to be true, but straight-forward. And if it turns out to be ashes, then Sebastian can just walk. London has been getting boring anyways. 

She stands and walks forwards, swaying dramatically, dress tight around her hips. He makes sure to maintain eye-contact. When she is close enough, her hands raked through Sebastian’s hair for a moment before her grip turns painful, manicured nails furrowing lines into his scalp. “I do so love a witty lad as long as they understand their place. Do you understand, Sebby dear?”

“Yes, Boss.” Sebastian responds quickly. He doesn’t even try to pull his head away. He has no doubt the woman would much rather pull his hair out before relenting her grip.

“Good boy!” She coos in his ear before dropping her hand and walking towards the little table by her chair. She returns with a mobile and hands it over with a flourish. “Remember to come when you’re called. But for now, you’re released. Have fun, dear!” And she twists on the spot to walk out one of the warehouses side doors, giving a jaunty little wave over her shoulder as she goes. 

Sebastian looks down at his lap with a grimace. He’s going to have fun trying to get home in only his pants. The fact that he has a nice little chub going should also be cause for embarrassment. He knows she had been aware, but the quick dismissal made it quite apparent that she didn’t care enough even to make fun. But at least it sounds like he won’t have to clean any bodies from his apartment when he finally reaches it. The goon squad has it covered. Speaking of….

One of the doors slams open. There they are. The six remaining men file in, loosely holding onto their weapons. Not exactly on alert but not talking his relaxed posture at face value, either. The silence is bordering on awkward. But Sebastian’s give-a-damn is reliably busted. 

“Don’t suppose any of you blokes packed a pair of trousers when you abducted me?” A man in the back with a purpling eye socket tosses him jeans that he was pretty sure he wore last night. “Ta,” Sebastian says as he did the universal wiggle dance to get his way into them. It isn’t exactly refined, but he’d gone clubbing last night, so sue him if he’d wanted to look good. He gets lucky when he realizes his pack and lighter are still in the pocket. When he reaches for them, he notices a few finger-twitches. 

“At ease,” he gives the order in a low and confident register while he removes them. “Just lighting up. It hasn’t been the best of mornings.” He continues through the motions when the order seems to work. They are military men, after all. But he’s lying. This morning had probably been the most exciting since he’d gotten back to London. And that’s including the morning he woke up to discover he’d been invited to a drunken threesome the night before. 

“No shit,” One of the braver (or just stupider?) men scorns. He’s holding himself funny. Cracked ribs, probably. Sebastian’s pretty sure he’d kicked him during the scuffle, after he’d realized they weren’t actually government. 

Sebastian just raises a slim eyebrow and exhales his first drag of smoke through his nose. “Are apologies going to be necessary? Because I just hate hostile work environments and I was under the impression that this was a professional outfit.”

“You get dragged here like a prisoner after mowing the others down, and now she wants us to take you back? We walked in thinking we’d be cleaning your blood from the walls and hauling your unconscious body back to that shit hole!” Cracked-ribs mouths off. He’s the youngest. Probably dropped out the first chance he got after some weapons training. 

“Mmm…. Sorry to disappoint. Apparently, I passed my interview with excellence. No torture necessary. I wouldn’t mind a ride back to my place, though.” Great. Being bare-chested wouldn’t be nearly as conspicuous in a car. Not like he will be able to grab a cab.

“We were made to drag you out here and four men died so she could offer you a job.” Another man speaks with deadened incredulity. It’s cute when they still believed in brotherhood. 

“Multiple jobs, from the sounds of it.” Sebastian rolls a shoulder, covering the sore feeling with a shrug. “And it didn’t seem like she would take no for an answer very gracefully. Although, damn. There isn’t much she doesn’t do gracefully, huh?” He cracks a grin around the cigarette in his mouth. He’s expecting a little shop talk, maybe. While the boss is away, the boys will play. But instead, they all go shifty.

One of the older men (no injuries except for the very prominent, very beautiful handprint across his cheek) turns and motions for Sebastian to follow as the others start gravitating to one of the big doors. “Best not to talk about her,” he mutters. “Swear to God that woman has spiders spying for her.” 

“Speaking of,” Sebastian keeps talking. This is the first time in a long time he hasn’t been bored, and he wants to know more about this wonderfully moonstruck woman. “Does that woman have a name? Besides Boss, I mean? It’s a lovely name, I suppose. For someone who conducts interviews on prisoners in warehouses.”

Eerily, as a unit, all the men turn to fix Sebastian with disbelieving stares. 

“How long have you been back in London? In the game?” A limping man asks, carefully, like he doesn’t want to actually know the answer.

Sebastian just rolls his eyes and taps his scarred chest. “Coupla’ months. The beastie ended my tour pretty fucking quickly and they waited until I wasn’t bleeding everywhere to ship me back with a discharge.”

Black-Eye swore before hiss-whispering to Cracked-Ribs. “That’s after a couple of months? What the hell happens over there?”

Sebastian can’t help it. He roars out a laugh, quick fingers saving his cigarette. He just waves off their offense once he’s done, wiping his eyes and popping his cigarette back into place. “You were saying?” He gives his attention back to the others—the older ones.

Slapped-silly clears his throat and leans closer to whisper, “Moriarty. Surely you’ve heard of him?”

Sebastian gives the man another look. He really didn’t seem the joking sort. “I’ve heard of Bluebeard and the Boogyman too.” Sebastian announces dryly. Like he’d told the boys, he hadn’t been home for long. But Moriarty was a name he heard a few times as he dabbled in wet work. Nothing concrete, all rumored, and no solid evidence. Just a whispered argument between his clients. Things like, “Moriarty said” and “Don’t fuck it up or Moriarty will have your head”. But he also heard no one had actually seen the bloke before. Everything was done remotely. Mysteriously. So everyone was kept on their toes. More horror story that truth. 

“She’s his b—,” Cracked-ribs tries to declare. But Limpy and Slapped-silly both smack him before he can finish his sentence. The others look around, spooked. Right, she has little spiders everywhere.

“They say she’s his gal Friday. All I know for sure is there are nearly fifty of us blokes that report to her. And we get paid a lot to do weird shit like kidnap a potential employee.” Limpy speaks again.

“If we stay alive long enough anyways. She treats us like fucking fodder!” Black-eyed spits.

Sebastian gives a shrug and heads for the door again, ignoring the men that shift to clear his way. He calls back, “Cheer up, soldier. We’re all fucking fodder for the entire god-damn race. At least this one’s smart.” He doesn’t say ‘smart enough to send the annoying ones off to slaughter’. He rather thinks the smarter men already caught on. That’s why they remained silent.


End file.
